


Faith

by Little_Firestar84



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movies)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, crusaders & armors, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Firestar84/pseuds/Little_Firestar84
Summary: She holds the cross for dear life, and her mind goes back to her mum, giving the cross belonging to her late father to their daughter on the day of her Chrismation, going with her parents to Church every Sunday morning, holding hands, how happy she was to wear her scandalous dress at her Holy Communion- light blue lace with the cute ribbon at the waist, the only note of color among the ocean of white worn by boys and girls alike in her group.She remembers her mother, finding some sort of solace in their faith after her father’s passing.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 231





	Faith

“What’s that, a girdle?” Nile sneakers, elbowing Nicky in the side as she steals a glance at his open suitcase on the bed in one of their many safe houses. 

Looking fondly at the piece of metal on top of his clothes, Nicky smiles almost sad- and yet, _fond._ She hasn’t known him long, and yet she just knows that he speaks with his eyes, that, even when he doesn’t say a sole word, they say million things – poetry and love and just beautiful things, because Joe’s right, Nile knows: Nicky is a good soul, too good for the world. 

(Maybe, even too good to actually be one of them.)

“It’s a _plackart – a_ breastplate.” He snorts, mocking her for having using such a vile word for such an important thing. “It’s a relic form the First crusade. From the year 1099, to be more precise.”

“It belonged to some kind of saint?” She notices, half-hidden by military green t-shirts, the red cross in the center of the breastplate, and tentatively, like on instinct, she _almost_ touches it, herright hand holding like for dear life the gold crucifix at her neck. Nicky is smiling, kind, fond, a gentle soul, and when she notices that he isn’t saying anything, she feels like the cold, old metal could actually _burn_ her, and takes her hand away, swallowing. 

“Sure it did,” Joe snorts, looking from the kitchen with his arms crossed, smirking, too proud of himself for his own good. “Saint Nicolo di Genova.”

“Ehy, I’ve been putting up with you jerks for nine hundred, twenty one years- _of course_ I’m saint!” Nicky answers his partner, mocking him, always ready to laugh, about himself and the others. 

“ _Wasn’t mocking you when I sad that, babe_. You know I think you are too good for this world.” The love of his life whispers, nuzzling his lover’s neck, tenderly kissing the exposed skin. “Everything all right, Nile?”

She just nods at Joe’s question, still holding the cross, still staring at the one in Nicky’s case. 

She isn’t all right. 

She hasn’t been since that knife has made her bleed out and she understood she couldn’t die. 

Nicky squeezes her shoulder, and shows her what he keeps hidden underneath his t-shirt- it’s a small cross, not bigger than hers, made of wood, simple, attacked at a simple leather string. 

“When Joe and I met, we kept killing each other for _days-_ and the first few times, the wounds were so bad, it took us a day or two to come back. And then, one day, we say that were the only ones left. All of our companions were dead, on both sides. We were alone, save from our enemy. And we asked ourselves what kind of God would ask his children to die, to kill. Do you know whatI think?”

She nods, meeting his eyes. 

“I think that it doesn’t matter what God you pray to. I’ve read in so many languages, so many taxes. Gods are good, they love their children- but humans twist their words. Humans ask us to kill our kind. To spread death and destruction, no matter what. Not God- ours, his, or any other.”

She bites her lips, her eyes glossy. She holds the cross for dear life, and thinks back- she shouldn’t, but she really can’t- and her minds goes back to her mum, giving the cross belonging to her late father to their daughter on the day of her Chrismation, going with her parents to Church every Sunday morning, holding hands, how happy she was to wear her scandalous dress at her Holy Communion- light blue lace with the cute ribbon at the waist, the only note of color among the ocean of white worn by boys and girls alike in her group.

She remembers her mother, finding some sort of solace in their faith after her father’s passing.

She _imagines_ her mother and her brother, trying to find peace, a reason why their baby was killed in action, praying for her soul- praying that she didn’t suffer in her last moments on Earth. 

( _Thank you, Copley,_ she thinks, her mind going back to the well-fabricated lie.)

“It’s Okay to pray- I still do. I didn’t stop believing in God, I stopped believing in the Church, in the humans behind it. I don’t even walk into churches any longer nowadays.” Still hugging him from behind, Joe rolls his eyes, snorting. “Okay, fine, I do walk into churches, but only for artistic purposes. I can still honestly say if something it’s beautiful and a piece of art. _And_ , last time we went to the Louvre, you actually _sighed_ before Giordano’s Adoration of the Shepherds!”

Joe doesn’t argue- it would be a lie, after all. He may not be like his Nicky, he may have lost all faith, gone longer than he cares to admit without following his religion’s teaching, and, even if it was a Christian painting, the sole use of light and shadows, of chiaroscuro, the precise brushstroke on a 1600 painting alone deserve his utter admiration. 

(Besides, he had known Luca himself, back in Florence- the painter had forged a couple of paintings for them so that they could sell them and make quick money.)

“Ehy- everything all right?” Andy wonders at loud, lifting an eyebrow, quizzically. 

Line smiles- the first time in days -maybe the first time since she became immortal- and nods. 

“Yeah,” she says, sighing, content. “Yeah, it is. 

(It may not be completely true- but she knows that one day it will be. They are about to do a lot of good work, after all.)


End file.
